From the Start
by Alice Hates Wonderland
Summary: He wasn't sure how he got there, but maybe on board of this Pirate ship he could find the adventure he was looking for. Or rather, how did the Pirate Captain ever meet his First Mate? A prequel to the series with minor Pirate CaptainX Pirate with a Scarf moments.


**A History**

Wow, I'm a huge fan of the series and have been for about a year. I just now got around to writing a fan fic about it. Pretty pathetic, huh? Anyway, I love this series, the books, the movie, all of it.

So I did this. I've always wondered how the Pirate Captain and Pirate with a Scarf first met, being they are my two favorites (and current OTP), thus this was created.

I guess, lets get on with it.

Oh, by the way, I do realize that English impressement ended in 1815, but I mean, we are dealing with a series that has dealt with Charles Darwin, Karl Marx, and Mary Shelley, I think I can stretch history a tad. And I mean, Bellamy was thought to have been impressed, a whole hundred years before the books so I'm not too far off.

* * *

How did he get there?

On his hands and knees scrubbing the grime coated deck. His fingers burned as he gripped the hand brush, suds of soapy water dripping from all the way up to his elbows.

He hated this. He knew he was a cabin boy and he was definitely used to this treatment. But it wasn't his current position that was so distasteful, but rather his current location.

A navy vessel, as an impressed naval soldier.

Right, that's how he got there, when he was back at the docks. He had just gotten back from sailing to the Americas, on his vessel, er, his former vessel. On shore leave, he was, going with one of his shipmates to enjoy a few days of real, not salted, food and water that hadn't been fermenting for weeks at a time.

It was Tyr, his closest cohort, who was walking down the wharf with im. It was with he that he saw the tides of sailors split, running to all ends of the docks to get away . It was with he that he began to see the danger approaching, in men with dark blue uniforms with dangling medals and honors upon their breast. It was with he that he was clapped in irons, thrown against another soldier, and then forced to march upon the ship he now resided on.

But where was Tyr?

He had gotten away. He had seen the boy running back to his ship. He knew he'd tell the captain and crew about his fate.

Leaving him stuck aboard this ship.

Since his time upon the ship he had been shuffled from place to place, each time collecting a new bruise or scar from the "fine" treatement. Because he was so young, the soldiers automatically assumed that he had no knowledge in the ways of the sea; that he was just some scrawny lad that snuck aboard to escape the life of a beggar. And thus had stuck him with cleaning duties.

In which they were wrong to assume. At his current age, two decades old, he had already spent nearly ten years at sea. They weren't wrong about him sneaking away to escape it all, but it hadn't been recent.

Sweat began to pool on the back of his neck underneath his shoulder length matted hair. He hadn't been able to pay too much attention to his physical appearance, not since he'd had all his effects confiscated back at the shore. Left to change into the standard uniform, he had nothing but his original underclothes to call his.

He let out a long pant, hoping to god that the sun would, for a brief moment, retire behind the white wisps of clouds and relieve the heat a bit. No such luck, thought he, as he looked up, wiping sweat off of his brow and leaving a trail on his sleeve. He pulled a face, seriously wondering why these soldiers dared to dress so hot. It was the middle of July.

Suddenly he heard footsteps approaching quickly, and he ducked back to work. He frantically ran the brush up and down the boards of the deck. He hoped his brief rest had gone unnoticed.

Unfortunately, as he felt someone pulling him to his feet from the roots of his hair, it had not. A rather burly, dirty man with teeth nearly as black as soot and spots of skin where rashes had not been allowed to heal glared at him.

"Who said you were allowed to stop?" asked he, his breath like a cloud wrapping around the young man. In the his grasp he felt smothered.

"I-I- didn't mean to…" he stuttered, watching as his captor wrapped his hand tighter around the whip he grasped, the opposite still holding him.

As quick as a flash he was thrown against the main sail, turned around and forced to lean against it. He didn't want to admit it, but he was terrified, especially as the man pulled his collar, yanking the coat off of his back and revealing his bare back to the elements.

One lash, he felt, burned into his skin. He slammed his eyes shut as he braced for the rest.

Another lash, and he began to remember the tales of one naval officer who had stomped a cabin boy so hard in the chest that he lost control of every thing, and when the crew tried to throw him to sea he had turned a whole mess of colors and textures. God, he hoped the next horror story wasn't about him.

Third lash, and he cried out. It wasn't loud, nothing more than a hiss.

Fourth lash and he was forced to open his eyes. He gazed out at the open sea in hopes of finding some comfort, as it always had.

A fifth lash. When he was a child he would always look to the sea and find some sense of home and familiarity, and with his years at sea he had begun to feel like it was his true place, like how birds flew through the sky

However, when he looked to the sea, he didn't see just the open blue.

The sixth lash. Sails, he saw sails.

Apparently he wasn't the only one, as he heard the crier let out a warning. Even his current antagonist decided to let him be, at least for this moment. That man, who had previously been whipping his back, began to cry orders for battle stations.

As his torturer was currently distracted, he dropped to the floor, reaching for his coat and throwing it over his back, happy to hide his forming scars from the salty spray of the ocean.

Rocking in pain for just a moment, seemingly hoping the movement would heal the pain, he stopped and listened. The shouts of the crew grew more and more frantic as the ship grew close enough to see her colors. He finally leapt to his feet and ran to the aft of the boat, trying to catch a glance of the approaching ship. Behind him was a flurry of movement, men running up and down the deck, crawling in and out of the hold. Most were fleeing in, as that was where all the cannons on this ship were stored, and the cannons were their best defense.

The ship was moving fast, faster than he could believe. All around were shouts of orders and insults. Feeling awkward, he realized he wasn't sure as to where to go. He wasn't a trained naval officer, he was just a boy flung into a navy uniform. He had only fought a few times in his life, in fencing lessons as a boy. He was basically defenseless and worthless in an attack. However he doubted the encroaching attackers would split that hair.

From behind him he heard a hum of whispers and a chorus of surprised cries. People were throwing the word "pirate" around.

When he was on his old merchant vessel, pirates were always a threat, but he had never dealt with them. Not to say he didn't get told the tales of Captain Avery as a child and dream of a life as exciting as Blackbeard's, but it all seemed so alien.

He could never imagine, in his entire life, that his, and a pirate's fates would overlap.

As they grew closer, he heard cannon fire from the other ship. He stepped back from the rail of the boat and began to plan a means of survival.

He didn't like to brag, but he had always managed to keep himself safe and alive due to his ability to think on his feet. It had gotten him on his first ship as a kid, it had helped him stay safe in a city crawling with thieves and cut-purses, and now, it was the only hope he had.

The enemy was close enough now to be in firing range, and he began to hear orders to do just that. He braced himself knowing that not only their fire, but the enemies fire, would begin to rock the ship, and slammed his eyes shut.

However, thinking he'd hear the whir of cannonballs flinging across the sea, he felt a rush of surprise. Opening his eyes, he noticed there was no fire from their end, rather, the ship was rocking violently, and he could smell smoke.

"The cannons! They misfired!" One sailor shouted, crawling out of the hold covered in ash and blood. The young sailor gulped as he realized that they had just lost the majority of their army.

They stood no chance.

He stood no chance.

The scent of burning flesh and blood filled the air, and he began to feel his stomach reel. He didn't want to get sick now, it wouldn't improve situations at all.

The enemy ship began to fire and were now drawing close enough that they would be able to board. He could only imagine what would happen once they did, the pillaging, plundering, and worst of all, the running people through.

A brief sense of regret washed over his heart as he began to think of all he had left when he had been dragged upon the navy warship. Sure, he had a family, but his thoughts never drifted much to them. His mother and father were poorer than the dirt underneath their ragged boots, and his rabble of siblings was far too much for them to possibly be able to manage. He was the youngest of their sons, of which they had four, and the second youngest all together, with one sister claiming that title.

No, when his life was threatened and he thought of what he would miss, it was his crew. The crew upon his merchant ship, where he was part of a family. He was undoubtedly loyal to them, as they were his real kin underneath it all.

And he would never see them again. He'd see no one again. No one except for his captors.

He began to hear the roars of angry men from the ship, now no further than a few yards away. Stepping back he saw the pirates swinging from their rigging onto the navy warship.

One in particular caught his eye, one man, no more than five or so years older than himself, in a flaming red coat with a large tricorn hat upon his brow. His beard, the young sailor had to mention, was luxurious and large, giving him an almost royal look. No doubt he was a king among pirates, he thought.

His crew seemed very small, consisting of no more than a few burly men, all of them seemingly older than he. One was dark skinned and brawny, but seemed rather hesitant when he was battling the soldiers, the other, a man with a failing leg and a nose larger than half of his face, swinging his cutlass in a brutal frenzy. The last was a skinny pirate whose skin was burnt to the same color as a beet. He was shouting at the bearded pirate (did he say shout? He meant to say nagging).

Around the rest of the deck the rest of the ragtag assortment of men were doing their part to fight against the soldiers and storm the ship. Some were fighting while others were breaking open every barrel and crate on deck, and even some were venturing into the dark of the hold.

As the pirates upon the deck were mercilessly cutting down the ranks of soldiers, he began to panic. What was he to do? They would find him, no doubt.

Just as he heard footsteps growing closer to him, he noticed one of the pirate ship's rigging was swinging towards him.

It all came down to this decision, now or never. Did he risk staying on this ship, being killed by the pirates by either being run through or by walking the plank, or did he run?

He looked to their ship with gritted teeth, what would they do if they found him aboard? Would his punishment be worse? Would he tortured for his audacity?

But at the same time, in the off chance that the pirates failed and sailed away leaving some of the crew unharmed, would he rather stay on his floating prison?

It came down to the question: did he risk death with the pirates or with the navy?

The footsteps were so close now, but he didn't dare look back to see. Instead he made a decision.

He leapt.

His arms nearly detached from their sockets as he grasped at the thick rope, feeling it begin to return towards the pirate ship. He held tightly until he was hovering safely in the middle of the ship.

Then he let go, and fell into a rather unceremonious lump. Dazed from impact, he struggled to rise to his feet, collapsing once or twice in failure. Finally he managed to stand, stumbling violently with the rocking ship. His head was swimming and his eyes wouldn't stay open. When he had hit the deck, he must have taken much of the blow against his head, as he began to feel like he was going to black out.

Thinking that in the middle of the deck would probably not be the best place to do so, so he began to crawl. His consciousness was fading, and his eyes were doing all they could to stay open. Two barrels sat against the rail of the ship, and it was in between there, he thought, he could rest.

And finally, sitting against one of the barrels, he blacked out.

* * *

Voices.

He heard voices.

"What is it?" one with an Irish bur rolled out.

He forced his eyes open, trying to understand the current situation as best as he could. Just like before he wasn't sure he could recall how he got there.

Oh, right, the attack. His memory was fleeting he supposed.

As he began to see distinct shapes forming from the blurs, he made out a circle of faces looking down at him. There was a medley of emotions, some were surprised, some where concerned, and one was just plain unhappy.

"A stowaway from that navy ship, obviously?" Spoke one rather sunburnt pirate.

"What should we do captain? You can't mean to not help him?" spoke the darker pirate, one who spoke with a rather higher pitched voice. He looked like he was gazing upon a lost kitten, the same affection in his eyes.

"No, no, I don't want to hurt the lad," spoke the pirate he had seen before, the one with the beard, the one he was instantly drawn to. He was the captain.

Attempting to speak, he opened his mouth, but a groan of pain escaped instead.

"What's wrong with him?" asked another pirate, one with a cork for a nose.

"He's just putting on a show to gain our pity, captain just throw him to sea." The sunburnt pirate spoke again.

"Come now, don't you have any mercy, number two? He's no more than a boy,"

"Hmph" huffed the pirate, "some boy? He's in a navy coat captain, he's obviously one of them."

"No…" muttered out he, rising to his feet and holding his head. A throbbing pain settled in the front of his skull, emanating all the way down to his curling stomach.

"No?" asked the pirate with the failing leg, the one with the Irish accent.

"Ssh, Pirate with gout," hushed the captain, turning and looking deep into his eyes, almost as if looking into him. Fear filled him, what did this man see? He hoped it wasn't just the uniform he was contained within, or the dirt and sweat caked upon his face. "Now speak up, who are you? And why are you here? On MY ship?"

He gulped in the hope of moisturizing his vocal chords.

"Please, I didn't want to cause any trouble," he moaned, raising his hands up like there was a cutlass pointed at his throat, "I was impressed upon that navy ship and I just wanted to get away."

"Impressed?" the captain asked, seemingly outraged. However, that faded as he nervously glanced around then whispered to the burned pirate, "what does that mean number two?"

"It means," the pirate with sunburnt skin and glaring auburn eyes spoke, loud enough for all to hear "that he was forced into the navy, right?"

"Yes," he answered, noticing his coat was still unbuttoned. He felt himself blush as he began to fiddle with the complex buttons. He looked up to see the crew talking amongst themselves as to what impressment was (the current topic was that it was rather a type of showing off to a girl rather than forced to be in the navy), but the captain's dark eyes locked upon him. It traced from his fingers upon the lower buttons of his coat, up to his slightly bare chest, then met his eyes.

In his eyes he saw a flurry of things, anger, excitement, interest, curiosity, and something else. Something he couldn't place. Attraction perhaps? He couldn't tell, but he began to feel a slimmer of hope blossom in his chest.

"Do you have a name?" the captain asked, interrupting the arguing crew.

"It's T-"

"Doesn't matter, I won't remember it," he stated, brushing imaginary dirt off of his shoulder. The young man just stared at him, slightly slack jawed. "Anyway, this is my ship. This is my crew, Pirate with Gout, Pirate Who Likes Kittens and Sunsets, Pirates with prosthetics," he continued to rattle off a list of tittles, all of which contained the word pirate and some descriptor, and most of which he couldn't even fathom remembering. Each and every pirate waved slightly at a mention of their names, to which he responded with a confused nod. The captain finally seemed done until he flourished towards the rather negative pirate, "and this is my first mate, the Sunburnt Pirate."

Said pirate didn't wave, in fact he didn't even look at him. Instead he turned his head away with a hmph.

"And I," the captain brought his attention back with a loud bravado, "am the Pirate Captain, the newest terror of the high seas!"

He nodded and looked at the crew, not numbering much but seemingly a tight crew. A pain lingered in his heart as his thoughts retraced to the crew he had been stolen from.

Oh, if only they knew of his fate now.

"The Pirate… Captain," he asked, unsure of how that could be a name, instead of just a title. Said captain smiled wide and drew his cutlass, throwing it up in the air.

"Indeed! I'm the Pirate Captain, and the future Pirate of the Year!"

At this point he was completely lost.

"Pirate of the year?"

The crew groaned, knowing a familiar explanation was coming.

"Yes! The ultimate test to see which pirate is the best of the best! I've been a shoe in for quite a while but have yet to win!" He stated, puffing his chest and returning his cutlass to it's sheathe. He then examined the new boy in front of him, "Now what say you?"

"What? What say I?" asked he, feeling his head swimming with the obscurity this turn of events had taken.

"Yes!" the captain acted like this was the most obvious question ever asked, like was the ocean wet, "do you want to be a pirate?"

"Me? Be a pirate?" gulped he. Never had two clauses been so separate in his mind. He never thought anything like this was possible. Him? The one who never stepped a single toe out of line? Who had never been disciplined in school or by his parents? The one who was always teased by his siblings for being a goody-two-shoes?

He stood there for a moment more completely dumbfounded, eyes tracing over the ship. It was a complete wreck, in dire need of repair in some places and already broken in others. The paint was peeling, the deck was filthy, and the wood chipping. Yet, he couldn't place it, but something felt comforting, homey almost.

He didn't know if it was his imagination, but it felt brighter upon the pirate ship. There was a sense of belonging that was wrapped around him like a blanket (even with the first mate objecting to him there). On the navy vessel it seemed like the sun was just oppressive, but now it was warming. The wind before was unchanging, but the wind now was refreshing.

Things seemed so much better, even if it was on a pirate ship.

But was he willing to abandon his country? Was he willing to become a criminal?

He figured that in the eyes of his home country he was already a criminal. He had deserted the navy. Correction, deserted the navy to go aboard a pirate ship. He was already in deeper trouble had ever been in, or ever imagined being in.

In reality, he had no choice.

"I-" he started, having to stop and start again, guilt sinking into his adam's apple , "I guess I am."

As soon as he spoke a loud chorus of cheers erupted around him from the pirate crew. He suddenly was jostled around in a chorus of pats on the back and different pirate metaphors and tidbits.

All the while he felt sick to his stomach. He wasn't completely sure what he had just agreed to, but he wasn't sure he liked it.

The wonderful jubilee ended as the sunburnt pirate let out a long scoff.

"Captain he won't be nothing but dead weight, no doubt he has barely sailed in his life, and of course, as soon as we make port he's going to run back to the navy" muttered the first mate, glaring at the boy. Returning his glare he shook his head.

"No, I don't want to go back to the navy, that's why I ran away. And second I know a lot about sailing, I've been doing so since I was a boy, almost ten years ago." Retorted he, catching the first mate's eyes pulling away from the glare to roll his eyes.

"See now, that will be a great help! He knows just as much as you do!" the Pirate Captain said, trying to comfort his first mate but instead it just grated on his nerves more. He turned back to the boy before him, "We've been in need of someone who can help read the seas and sky."

He just smiled at the captain, feeling slightly better, at least he had some security on this ship, they apparently needed his services. The captain then stepped forwards towards him and clapped a wide hand upon his shoulder, leading him away.

"Come, we'll get you versed in the ways of a pirate in no time."

He dragged his feet for a bit but then nodded. He kept pace with the older man's footsteps, his shoulder still carrying his hand. The captain led him into his chamber, closing the door behind them, but finding it hard when the first mate insisted he come in to by shoving his foot in between the frame and door.

Growling the first mate limped into the room and took his place on the right side of a broad desk in the room, not sitting, just standing.

The young man looked around with a sense of wonder and awe. Upon all of the walls were trophies and portraits of all kinds. Various knickknacks and clutter was nailed upon the grey wooden walls. Memento's of adventures come and passed, trophies of victories or defeat, each and everyone told a tale.

He was so intrigued by it all and began to think if he could ever fill a wall with all the adventure he had. That thought stopped him in his tracks.

There was nothing he had done that would ever been good enough to mount upon the walls, no adventures had ever given him any reason to be proud the occurred. He could think of countless other people he could see upon his walls, but he couldn't imagine it himself.

A strange feeling welled in his throat, replacing the fear that had gathered there before. He began to realize what this was, regret and loss.

All he could dream of was adventure, and all he wanted was that. Wasn't that the whole point of sailing? Adventuring to new lands. Even with his merchant ship, he had barely done any of that.

Maybe joining this pirate crew wasn't a bad idea. At least he would be able to join on these adventures.

"Now, if you're going to be a pirate," spoke the captain, taking a seat behind his desk and steepling his fingers. The young man just awkwardly stood before him, shifting his weight back and forth from his left to his right. Between the intense interest coming from the captain and the glare from the first mate, he felt a little more than just uncomfortable. He shifted his gaze from his feet to the captain, his new captain. "you are going to need to be a loyal member of a band of rogues, renegades and misfits,"

There was a pause, and not knowing if he was to respond, he just muttered a "yes".

Seemingly satisfied the captain continued, giving a long, rather practiced speech of what a life at sea would be like and what he could expect. He spoke of everything, from the deeper points where he brushed on love and life, to when he rambled about knots on the ships for a good fifteen minutes, listing off his favorite types.

The young man began to daze off at some of the portraits as he spoke. All of them were of the Pirate Captain, and some were with his crew. The occasional breakage in the wall of vanity mainly consisted of various brick-a-brack. One thing in particular, however, stood out more than anything else. Upon the wall was a length of fabric, red fabric that was nailed haphazardly onto one of the support beams. As the captain continue to drove on, and he would occasionally look to him, but found his eyes tracing back to the fabric.

Finally, after seemingly hours (shown by the fact the first mate was seemingly dozing off on his feet), the captain finished, grinning brightly at the young man. He nervously smiled and rubbed the back of his neck nodding his head slowly.

"I..I think I understand sir," he lied, he had no idea what any of that drivel was about. He wasn't sure he could get used to such a long winded captain, then again, he would have to.

The smile quickly turned into scrutiny as the Pirate Captain looked the young man up and down, his brow lowering and lips pouting.

"We will need to do something about your wardrobe, I mean, I can't have a navy soldier parading around my ship, especially when I have barely made a name for myself in the pirating fraternity." He looked him up and down a few moments more, causing the young man to once again awkwardly shift on his feet. He didn't like being the center of attention, most of the time he was fine just watching.

"Aha!" the captain finally shouted, walking over to a rather large wardrobe and pulling out a length of leather, "I mean, every pirate has a belt, so no doubt you'll need one."

He tossed it at the boy who caught it and held it like a snake. Outstretching his arms he tried to find the start. Instead of finding just one belt, he found two. Figuring this was some pirate fashion, he began to wrap one over his left shoulder and underneath his right arm. He buckled it in the front and then linked the second one a little bit higher than his waist. He grimaced, feeling rather uncomfortable with all the restrictions against his skin. The captain turned and looked rather confused.

"What on earth are you doing?" asked he. The young man felt his face flush as from across the room, the first mate snickered.

"I just thought…" he started, then had to stop. What had he thought?

"No, no! Part of being a pirate on my crew is to look absolutely ridiculous. Maybe I'll call you the double-belted pirate?"

By this point the first mate was laughing loudly, causing his newest member of the crew to just hang his head and mutter something about "what was he doing". The Pirate Captain didn't like this. For one this new boy was so reserved, while most of his crew was loud and rambunctious. He honestly couldn't imagine a man like this fitting in on his crew.

But yet, something about him was very intriguing. He could tell this boy was more than he could see, even in the navy uniform. He held himself rather properly, and seemed to be watchful and minding of everything. Not that he was sure why, but he was so drawn to this boy that he had to keep him on his crew. He didn't want to let an opportunity like this pass him by.

His crew, the wild and unthinking coves they were, needed someone like him. And maybe, he did too.

The boy looked up from his feet and then looked to the wall again, at the fabric upon the wall. This didn't go unnoticed by the captain.

"Do you like it?" he asked, walking past him and towards said object of attention, pulling it down from the wall, "I got it, you see, when we were up in Greenland. Did you know that it's actually not very green, rather that it's just cold up there?"

He did know that, but he didn't want to insult the captain's sagacity, "No sir, I did not."

"Well, anyway, we were searching for the lost treasure that we were told was up there, something about the gold of Atlantis or something, I heard about it from some other captains, and it was freezing. I bought that, but my first mate," he motioned to the other presence in the room that was beginning to feel rather awkward and out of place, "told me it clashed with my coat. I wasn't too happy, since it's made of genuine chinchilla fur, but alas, it wasn't meant to be. Needless to say, I still keep it, even though I never intend to return to the cold. I was a pirate meant for the warmth of the Caribbean," he joked lightly. The young man looked at him and let a light smile pass his lips.

"Fascinating, captain," weakly stated he. The Pirate Captain looked to him, then at the fabric in his hand.

"I have an idea," he stated (and from across the room the young man saw the first mate tense up, no doubt accustomed to bad ideas coming out of the captain), "you need something else, otherwise you are just a navy kid with no idea how a belt works."

He extended his arm holding it to the young man. Confused he just looked into his umber eyes and shook his head.

"Sir?"

"Take it, and this time wear it properly" he ordered. The young man did just that, wrapping it around his neck and looping it in the front. He felt hot because of it, but he had to admit, he really loved it. Running his hand down the front he looked up and smiled to the captain.

"Thank you, sir."

The captain seemed satisfied with himself, standing back and looking at the young man like he was his masterpiece. He didn't look too noticeable as a soldier, as the scarf and belts hid any noticeable markings as to battalion and ranking. Instead he just looked like a rather young boy. His hair fell messily in his face, and from all of the excitement his cheeks had a line of dirt and seemingly a smear of blood. What the captain saw most was a spark in his eye. It wasn't much, but it was a spark.

"You know, you do need a name upon my ship," he looked the boy up and down, beginning to circle him like he had once seen a shark do, " and I should probably do that now."

The young man gulped. From the earlier introductions to the men on the boat, he could assume the Pirate Captain wasn't the most clever when it came to names (he really just hoped he wasn't something insulting). With a deep breath he just stood and looked forward, meeting gazes with the Sunburnt Pirate. He had a rather sinister snicker sitting upon his lips as he watched his Captain. This all seemed rather foreboding to him.

"I've got it!" He shouted, with the same enthusiasm as the man who had discovered fire, "it's so obvious. You will be called Pirate with a Scarf."

He blinked twice, just taking it all in. His brow fell as he began to look at him questioningly. How had it taken him so long?

Opening his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by the door of the chamber being thrown open. All three men in the room looked to the door to find that Pirate with Gout standing in it's shelter.

"Sir! We have a situation on the deck," he stated, throwing his thumb over his shoulder. The Pirate Captain rolled his eyes and walked out the door, his first mate in tow.

"What is it now?" he asked. The newly deigned "Pirate with a Scarf" stood rooted to the spot for a moment longer, his hands nervously fingering the end of the scarf. He looked up once more to the paintings upon the wall.

Maybe now he could have some adventures as well.

* * *

A/N: Agh! I'm sorry! I meant to make this all a one shot but it is running really really long, so I'm going to split it up into one more chapter. I mean, I have it at fourteen pages right now, which isn't too huge, but I'd rather split it up a bit more. Not to mention its really late and I've been working on this all day on and off.

To clarify, and I guess I should, being this is a prequel, not all of the crew are on board yet. Surprisingly Curvaceous and Albino Pirate have yet to join the crew, and Polly hasn't been found. I want to state, and it will become clearer later, that the Pirate Captain is new to the whole piracy scene, so he doesn't have much clout yet.

Anyway, more to be revealed in the next chapter.

Also, I really, really appreciate constructive criticism. I want to become a better writer, so if you have any, I'd be mighty grateful.


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